Your Touch
by Erika.Cade
Summary: On a night alone in the lair with Oliver, Felicity wakes up to a very welcome surprise. Oliver's intentions were purely innocent... at first. NSFW. Olicity.


**{Author's Note}**

Let's be frank here – this is smut. Shameless, admittedly different, probably-not-safe-for-work smut. If the stars (and my keyboard) have aligned, it'll hopefully be good smut. Let me know. In the meantime, I don't own Arrow. Trust me – if I did, this show would be on Cinemax after midnight and it would probably have some kind of phallic play on words for a title. I'm clever like that.

Also, I have no beta. All mistakes belong to me.

"**Your Touch"**

Oliver Queen was driving her crazy.

And not in the usual, I-want-to-strangle-you-because-you-are-reckless-and-it-gives-me-ulcers kind of way. Felicity Smoak, paragon of the virtue that is patience, had (mostly) conquered those stray feelings months ago. The men her life still had their moments, because when chasing after bad guys you tend to be in danger, but she no longer had mild heart attacks when an errant sound came over the comms. No, this time it was different. She didn't know if it was better or worse, but at the moment she was leaning toward the former.

Oliver Queen, reinstated CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation and crime-fighting hero by night, was playing with her hair.

Felicity wasn't entirely sure he knew he was doing it, but she hadn't convinced herself to sit up and call attention to the fact – if she did, he might stop, and no thank you to that. Definitely didn't want that, even if she couldn't figure out how she managed to get into this position in the first place. Well, she could probably tell you how she got to the couch, but that really wasn't the crux of the matter.

Felicity stayed at the lair a little later than usual to run some security programs, which was not out of the ordinary for her. Oliver being his growly, over-protective self he refused to leave her unattended and Digg had somewhere else to be. Eventually, somewhere around two in the morning, they agreed to rest their eyes. They found places on separate ends of the couch next to the training mats – not touching or anything. And yet, when her eyes fluttered open a few seconds ago, she found her head on a spectacularly muscled chest that was oddly Oliver-scented. Not that she knew what he smelled like. Well, she did, she was in fairly close proximity to him at any given time of day, but she didn't _know his scent_. You know, like in the romance books that she totally didn't read and had really never even heard of.

Three.

Two.

One.

Oliver was still going.

His long fingers were running through her hair, sifting through the wavy mess she'd created that morning. He started at the crown of her head and worked his way slowly down, taking care not to snag or snarl at any point along the way. The gentleness startled her – she knew better than almost anyone what those hands could accomplish, and they were touching her like she was made of porcelain. Like something to be cherished, and she reveled in it – even if Oliver was just doing it in his sleep.

After a moment the surreal feeling faded and she was able to relax against him, enjoying the delectable shivers running over the surface of her skin. She was so relaxed, in fact, that she may or may not have reached her free arm to wrap around his waist. Without even thinking about it. He didn't so much as pause, and Felicity convinced herself that he was moving reflexively and resolved to not look at the incident too closely – why over-think when you could relax and enjoy? That was her motto.

Well, the one she was adopting. Starting now.

It was surprisingly easy to close her eyes and settle in, sighing as her scalp tingled in happy appreciation for his efforts. His fingertips gently grazed the skin just above her hairline and traveled back, gliding over the contours of her skull and down to the nape of her neck before following through to the ends of her hair. Shivers started at the back of her neck and moved in a wave across her skin, working their way down her spine and over her arms. Felicity could feel blood rushing to the surface of her skin, turning her usually pale complexion pink with contentment. She pulled her legs up under her and leaned into his embrace, surrounding herself with him and delighting in the feeling of his touch.

Over and over, his fingers dragged through the blonde tresses until she had melted into a pathetic puddle of Felicity against his side. As time passed – seconds stretching into long minutes of bliss – her awareness slipped; she lost a little control of the situation and small moans started escaping her lips. Even still, the pleasure went on. For a moment she reasoned that Oliver would certainly be awake by now – aware of what he was doing to her – but the thought slipped from her mind as soon as she felt the soft scratch of her fingernails at the nape of her neck. After that she didn't think much of anything.

Especially after Oliver took a loose handful of her hair and gently pulled.

Felicity's breath caught and her fingers flexed into his side, heartbeat thudding heavily against her chest. The gentle, innocent tingles she'd felt before morphed into kindling across the crown of her head, where Oliver's hand was still fisting a lock of her hair. Slowly he released his grip, letting the strands fall through his fingers. The shivers returned, but the idea of relaxation was suddenly out of the picture. The next time Oliver touched her, only a few threadbare moments later, her body shivered in anticipation instead. She didn't dare look up, afraid to find out what she'd see once she met his eyes; afraid to know what he'd see in hers.

His touches were infuriatingly light now, running the pads of his fingers behind her ears and down her neck. Pleasurable, but frustrating. Felicity shifted in her seat, pressing her face harder against his chest, barely giving a thought to how needy she probably seemed. How impatient. It paid off – within a moment Oliver had taken hold of the hair at the base of her skull and pulled, harder this time. Not hard enough to snap her head back, but hard enough that her scalp erupted into rolling waves of heat that had her lips parting in a groan. The pressure continued for a few seconds, scarcely allowing her to breathe through the sensation, and then he relented. He combed his fingers down again, ending with the waves falling across her shoulders.

The intense pleasure faded, gathering again to wait under her skin, making her restless. Felicity shifted again, trying to calm her breathing and appreciating the delicious friction against the apex of her thighs. In a moment of clarity she realized she was seeking release. Not just in the really-good-massage-and-wine kind of release – the kind of release she hadn't gotten from another person in pretty close to two years. The kind of release that Oliver was apparently intent on giving her without realizing it, and without moving a finger below her collarbone. Was that even possible?

Another tug against her scalp sent her senses reeling, forced her eyes closed, cleared her mind. The question of mechanics was swiftly forgotten, replaced by a rolling fire that traveled from her head down her spine, ending with a hard throb at her center. Her thighs clenched, desperate to take hold of something, and she released another low moan. She yearned to move up and straddle his waist, to feel the rigid wall of muscle beneath her, but she didn't dare. She didn't want to break the spell, and she had no idea if Oliver even knew what he was really doing to her.

* * *

Oliver knew exactly what he was doing to her.

His intentions had been innocent… at first. He couldn't say platonic, not without lying. Not one of his feelings toward Felicity was platonic. When Oliver had looked over at her, watching her struggle awkwardly to rest her head on the back of the couch, he slid closer with the aim of getting her more comfortable. She was barely conscious at that point and curled up against him without much coaxing. She fit perfectly, like she always fit against him. Watching her nuzzle against him, his feelings for her were… soft. He felt warmth spread slowly across his chest and he smiled. She was the only one that could do that to him – he hadn't felt warm for years, not until he met her.

It was a rare moment of weakness for him when he reached down and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. This was almost the closest contact they'd ever had – the closest he'd ever allowed himself when not on the job, swinging her through an elevator shaft or away from a landmine. Her hair moved against the skin of his arm, softer than he'd ever thought to imagine. The sensation drew his eyes down, and he marveled at the bright blonde of her hair against his dark t-shirt. He marveled at the symbolism, which somehow managed to get through his uneducated skull. They were nearly complete opposites, but he felt himself drawn closer to her with every passing day.

Oliver's hand moved of its own accord. It was something close to an out of body experience as he watched himself reach up and drag his fingers through her hair the first time. His breath caught, waiting for her to wake up and look up at him with accusation in her eyes, but it didn't happen. She gave a sleepy sigh but didn't move. It was all his confidence needed to keep going, to keep dragging the softness of her hair across the blunt calluses of his hands. He couldn't stop staring at it, marveling. He shouldn't be allowed to be near her, much less touch her. But here he was, indulging himself – and, he noticed moments later – indulging Felicity.

Her soft sighs continued, and he grinned when she sleepily dragged her arm across his body to hug him closer. It was all he could do not to press a kiss to her head, but he didn't want the moment to be interrupted. He felt like he was in a dream, somehow removed from time and reality. In this time and space, he felt like he could get away with touching her. Felt like he had the freedom to be with her in this way, pressed up against each other without another care in the world. He could ignore the leather suit in a glass case a few feet away, and the bow situated directly in his line of sight. For the moment, they were just them.

Oliver kept going, all thoughts of stopping forgotten. Lost completely in the feel of her next to him, unable to tear his attention from the sight of her blonde locks slipping through his fingers, he almost missed her first moan. He felt the deep shiver roll down her body, watched the raised bumps erupt on her arms, and was so engrossed that the sound didn't immediately register. When it did, his hands faltered for a split second and his eyes darted down to her face. She was calm, her eyes still closed; the only proof that she'd made a sound were her slightly parted lips and the whispers of it still ringing in his ears. Curious, and possibly feeling self-destructive, he wondered if he could get her to repeat herself.

It was almost too easy – Felicity responded to every scrape of his fingers, every turn of his wrist. He was riveted by her, staring intently as her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted on a gasp. For a few minutes he was under the impression that she was resting, settling sleepily into his touch. When he gave a slight pull at the top of her head, her voice raised an octave and he felt the pinch of her nails against his ribs. Suddenly the muscles that had been loose and motionless a few seconds before had tightened, her arm squeezing him tighter. Swallowing hard, he released the lock of hair he'd been holding and let it fall back down. Another rolling shiver possessed her, and his heart rate sped up at the sensation of her moving against him.

Her reaction wasn't a fluke. Felicity shivered and groaned against him with every touch after that and Oliver watched with heavy lidded eyes as her face contorted in what had to be pleasure. Had to be. He saw the flush of arousal spread across her skin, the outline of her hardened nipples against the thin fabric of her dress. The sounds that left her throat, her voice roughened and desperate. It was unmistakable, and knowing he was responsible for it made his mouth go dry. He was painfully hard in a matter of seconds, straining against the zipper of his pants, but he was hesitant to reposition for fear of shattering whatever it was they were doing.

Were there boundaries still? How far was too far? Even frantic for more, to go further, the idea of Felicity's rejection – her pulling away, even for a second – slowed his fervor, but not by much. He imagined wrapping his hands around Felicity's hips, dragging her over his lap. Imagined pulling her head back by her hair and running his mouth over the pounding pulse at her neck while his other hand ventured under the pale pink of her skirt.

The vivid images made his heart race, made his hands rougher with her than he meant to be. His last grip of her hair forced her head back an inch, baring her face to him. Instead of wincing or shifting away, Felicity gave a soft cry and clutched him harder. She had yet to open her eyes, for which he was grateful. If she'd opened her eyes and shown him the need she was clearly feeling, he would have given in. He would have taken her on the couch without a second thought, damn the consequences. As it was, he was able to see her every expression without breaking his tenuous grasp on self control. This was the most he could allow himself.

For now, that was enough.

Oliver poured himself into his efforts, at least committing to what he was doing. He moved his fingers steadily over her head, pulling the hair between his fingers at seemingly random intervals. He stared, enraptured, as she stiffened and shook. Her shoes – cream-colored heels that made her close to four inches taller – slipped off her feet and clattered to the floor as she rubbed her legs together, trying to find enough purchase to satisfy her. He looked on as she struggled, torn between doing more to help her find relief and keeping their pace. Blonde hair twisted around his fist, he tightened his grip and dragged her head farther back. The motion forced her to remove her arm from around his waist and lean against his arm rather than his side. She answered his movement with a cry, and a single whispered plea.

In the end, the choice was easy to make.

Relinquishing his hold on the golden locks that had them in this predicament, Oliver leaned over to take hold of her waist. It took no effort at all to lift her from the couch and settle her against him, thighs on either side of his hips. He gave her a moment to object, to come back to herself and tell him to stop, but she never did. Instead Felicity let herself pitch forward, bracing her hands on his chest. He kept still, taut and aching as she leaned into him. He closed his eyes as her lips fell to his chin and then his jaw. She followed the line of his throat until her lips touched his collarbone, opening to take a small nip at the skin. Unwillingly he gasped and his hips jerked up, rolling against her. The sensation was almost euphoric and it forced him from his watch-and-see stance.

It was a matter of seconds before his hands followed the line of her thighs, smoothing his palms over the unbelievably soft skin he found there. Moaning, Felicity ground her hips against the rigid line of his cock and clenched her fingers in his shirt. Her breathing was coming fast now, punctuated with quiet moans and whispered words he couldn't understand. She had been close before, and now she was moments away from getting the release she was desperate for. Hands on her hips, he guided her against him and felt his own orgasm building from the base of his spine.

Fascinated and glorying in her pleasure, he moved them faster. He could see as the muscles in her arms tightened, felt her legs squeeze him tighter. Falling from her mouth was a constant chorus of his name, said from between trembling lips in gasping breaths. He'd never heard anything more fucking beautiful in his life. He wanted it burned into his memory, just her voice calling his name. He wanted it to occupy all the space filled with darker sounds; the words and noises that kept him up at night. The sound of her wanting him, _needing _him, was enough to burn away the rest of the world.

"Oliver, Oliver, _Oliver_…"

Keeping one hand on her hip, moving her roughly against him, Oliver reached up to slide his fingers through the fine hairs behind her ear. Firm in his conviction that Felicity enjoyed it, he did his best to help her along. He took a firm hold and pulled, staring as her mouth fell open on a curse and a loud cry that echoed in the empty foundry around them. Every muscle in her body tightened instantaneously and he felt it the moment she let go – felt her breath catch in her chest and watched her skin turn nearly scarlet in the harsh light. It was several long seconds that her cries reverberated in the air between them, and he couldn't hold on any longer.

She continued to rock through her orgasm – undulating against him until the edges of his vision began to blur. The friction against him was too much, and it took only a few seconds for him to join her. He broke on a strangled groan, his back arching violently off the couch, ecstasy and electricity flaring to life as the slick warmth of his release saturated his jeans. He kept one hand on Felicity, making sure she didn't fall backwards, but continued to thrust against her as he came down from a monumental high. Eventually the fire in his veins subsided, leaving his muscles shaky and his lungs devoid of air. He let his head fall back, taking deep pulls of oxygen into his burning chest.

It was several seconds before he could look up. When he did, he was met with Felicity's heavy gaze. Her eyes had opened at last, meeting his stare with blown pupils that nearly overtook the bright blue that surrounded them. Her hair was a mess, fanning out from her face in unkempt curls that made her seem crazed. She was gorgeous in a way he'd never seen before, before he'd first laid eyes on her. Felicity licked her lips and he looked on nervously as she tilted her head forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. The afterglow was messing with his head; he pulled her closer, surrendering to her questing touch when he should be pulling away and offering apologies.

"You can run from this, Oliver. From me," she said suddenly, seemingly reading his mind, her voice raspy and rough from disuse. She brought her lips to his, pressing insistently against him. He participated gladly, running the edge of his tongue along the seam of her lips and sighing in contentment when she opened her mouth to him. The warmth in his chest was back, heightened by the feel of her teeth on his bottom lip. It was over in a few seconds, and she pulled back with a sad look on her face that took him aback.

"But I wish you wouldn't," she finished.

On shaky legs she climbed off of him, settling her skirt back into place and reaching for her shoes. He watched as she took trembling steps away from him, toward the door. She ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots and trying to force it back into place. He considered following, and then considered letting her have her space. Maybe they both needed time to process; time to decide how this affected what they were doing and who they were to each other.

Or maybe they've had enough time for that.

It took Oliver less than five seconds to jump off the couch and follow her up the stairs and out of the foundry.

Felicity let him drive her home.

And then she let him stay.


End file.
